Judith Stacy - Jared's Runaway Woman

Nell’s husband, the woman was fond of saying, did things in a grand way, except save money. He’d died, leaving his widow nothing but the house. Nell had converted it into a boarding home and managed quite nicely with Lily and Kinsey as hired help.

“I was hoping Kinsey would have some gossip for us, Nell,” Lily said, returning to the biscuit dough on the worktable. “Did you hear anything more about that hateful old Miss Patterson while you were in town this afternoon?”

“Some people prefer to think of Bess Patterson as set in her ways,” Nell pointed out.

“I think she’s mean and completely unreasonable,” Lily said. “What sort of woman would hold a church hostage—just to get her own way?”

“It’s her money,” Nell said. “She can decide what she wants the church to look like.”

“I still say it’s shameful,” Lily declared.

Kinsey thought the same but didn’t say so, as she stirred the pot of potatoes boiling on the stove. The town’s only church had burned to the ground and Bess Patterson, the wealthiest and, some said, most peculiar woman in Crystal Springs, had offered to pay for its rebuilding—provided the structure met her specifications. So far, none of the plans met with her approval.

“I didn’t hear anything new on the subject at the general store,” Kinsey offered.

Both Lily and Nell looked disappointed. Nell got a stack of plates from the cupboard and headed back into the dining room.

“So what is new in town?” Lily asked, cutting biscuits from the dough.

The image of the stranger from the stagecoach bloomed large in Kinsey’s mind. He’d lurked in her thoughts ever since she’d hurried into the general store this afternoon to avoid his gaze, and once again his memory made her stomach a little jumpy. But just why that happened, she wasn’t sure.

“Well?” Lily prompted.

“Nothing,” Kinsey said quickly. “Nothing’s new in town.”

“Not a thing?” Lily asked hopefully, as if it might prompt her to recall something.

Stalling for time and struggling to put thoughts of the stranger aside, Kinsey glanced out the window at the boys playing in the neighbor’s yard. She spotted Sam quickly, running and waving a stick alongside the Gleason boys. Dora Gleason had four sons; one more child in her yard didn’t matter one way or the other, she’d said. Sam was close to the same age as the Gleasons and they all got along well.

“I saw Isaac in town,” Kinsey said softly.

Lily’s spine stiffened. “Sheriff Vaughn, you mean?”

“I mean your husband.”

Lily jammed the biscuit cutter into the dough and, after a few minutes asked, “Did he say…anything?”

“He said—”

“No. Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“Lily, you know I’ve stayed out of the business between the two of you but—”

“Please, Kinsey….” Lily closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Kinsey wiped her hands on her apron and touched her friend’s arm. “I understand.”

Lily turned to her again, tears welling in her eyes.

“It’s hard enough dealing with…what happened…”

“I know.”

“Oh, just look at me carrying on so.” Lily pulled out of her grasp and swiped at her tears with the hem of her apron. “And in front of you, of all people. I’m so sorry, Kinsey. How thoughtless of me. Here you are a widow with a little boy to raise all by yourself. You’ve lost your husband and you probably resent the way I’m treating mine.”

“It’s all right,” Kinsey said, because, really, it was.

She hadn’t taken sides in the Vaughns’ marital problems but she understood the situation well enough to know there was no easy answer.

“Do you miss your husband terribly?” Lily asked.

“Well…” Kinsey lowered her lashes and drew in a breath, trying to appear brave, as she always did when the matter of her dear departed came up.

“It’s hard for you to talk about him.” Lily shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Kinsey pushed her chin up. “It’s…difficult.”

“Why don’t you go on over to the White Dove?” Lily suggested, seemingly anxious to get off the subject of husbands, both living and dead. “Saturday is their busiest night and if you go over now, you can get a jump on those dishes and get home early, take your time getting ready for services tomorrow.”

On Sundays the boardinghouse didn’t provide meals for its residents, other than a cold breakfast. It was the only day Kinsey, Lily and Nell could call their own.

“But I’m not finished here,” Kinsey said, waving toward the boiling and sizzling pots and pans on the cookstove.

“I can do it,” Lily insisted. “You run on. And don’t worry about Sam. I’ll make sure he comes back from the Gleasons before dark.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Kinsey said, feeling a little guilty.

“Of course I’m sure,” Lily said.

Kinsey exchanged her apron for her wrap, bonnet and handbag and went out the back door. Her gaze settled on Sam still playing with the other boys, and immediately all troubling thoughts left her. She called to him and he rushed over, still clutching the stick in his hand.

“Having fun, honey?” she asked, kneeling in front of him.

“Yeah, Mama,” he said breathlessly, bouncing on his toes and waving the stick. “I shot ’em all.”

She smiled and smoothed back his damp bangs. “Mama’s going to the White Dove now. Miss Lily will come get you in a little while. You stay right here with the Gleason boys. Understand?”

“Okay, Mama,” he said, glancing back at the boys still running through the yard.

“Give Mama a hug.”

She opened her arms and Sam launched himself against her, his smooth cheek resting on hers, both arms curled around her neck. Kinsey held him to her, soaking up the treasured moment.

Then he pulled away and she managed to get a quick kiss on his cheek before he dashed back into the fray, shooting the Gleason boys with his pretend gun.

Kinsey rose slowly, her heart aching a little. Until Sam came along, she hadn’t imagined the depth of love she could feel for another human being.

He’d changed everything. Given her purpose, given her a passion for life she thought she’d lost years ago. Her love for the child had awakened a fierceness that she’d not known she had. Maybe no woman knew she possessed it until she had a child of her own. A child she’d lay down her life for.

A child she’d kill for.

Tears welled in Kinsey’s eyes, and the intensity of her feelings hardened her stomach into a tight knot. She’d keep Sam safe.

No matter what.

* * *

Jared settled into a chair beside the front window of the White Dove Café and tossed his hat into the empty seat beside him. The holstered pistol pulled against his thigh, annoying him. He wasn’t used to wearing the thing. He’d even forgotten it in his hotel room just now and was halfway down to the lobby when he remembered it and had to go back for it.

The restaurant was still busy, even though it was late, and the delicious aroma of the food made Jared’s mouth water. A good hot meal was just what he needed right now.

After getting off the stage earlier today, he’d gotten a room and a bath at the Crystal Springs Hotel, then lain down, intending to grab a few minutes of rest only to wake up several hours later. Staring into the dimly lit hotel room, it had taken him a while to remember where he was. He sprang out of bed and got dressed, grateful for the solid floor beneath his feet instead of the buck and sway of trains and the stagecoach.

The serving girl, a young woman with pale blond hair, approached the table carrying a coffee pot.

“Hi. I’m Dixie. Menu’s up on the wall,” she said, waving toward the chalkboard by the front door. She leaned down to fill his cup, resting her hand on the back of his chair. “See anything you—like?”

All he could see were her bosoms about six inches from his face, reminding him of what a long uneventful journey the trip from New York had been.

“Just, ah, just bring me whatever’s good,” he said.

Dixie’s smile turned sultry. “Oh, it’s all good.”

She winked, then sauntered across the restaurant and through the swinging door to the kitchen.

Jared doused his coffee with sugar and sipped as he looked out the window, avoiding the gazes of some of the other diners who’d turned to stare.

The last of the sun cast long shadows down the dirt streets. Few people moved about as the stores closed for the night. Farther down the street he caught a glimpse of the Wild Cat Saloon. The place was brightly lit and already a stream of cowboys and miners passed through the bat-wing doors. Saturday night, he remembered.

His mind swept back to memories of other Saturday nights in the thirty-two years of his life. Everything from suppers in a tuxedo to grabbing for the last pork chop off the platter in the lumber camp chow hall. Jared smiled at the thoughts.

His father had built a highly successful construction business in New York and had insisted that all of his five sons learn it from the ground up. That had meant summers at lumber camps and sawmills, sweeping up offices, working as an apprentice to architects and engineers before being sent off for a formal education. It had led to Jared, the oldest son, spending most of his time away from home.

And it had led to the death of his closest brother.

A different woman—this one with gray hair and a no-nonsense demeanor—brought him a plate of hot food. He dug in, turning his attention once more out the window. Jared took the time to study the buildings along Main Street as he ate, a habit deeply ingrained in him.

Wooden structures with simple lines. Functional. Nothing fancy. But that’s the sort of construction called for here. It would change, though, as the town grew and a bigger, more diversified population brought new ideas with it. Towns like Crystal Springs drew all sorts of people.

He wondered what it was, exactly, that had drawn the woman who’d run off with his brother’s baby to this place.

Clark. Younger than Jared by only a year. The two brothers had been inseparable growing up. They’d stayed close, exchanging letters even during the time Jared had been in Pennsylvania overseeing the construction of a mill for his father’s company, and Clark had been in Virginia doing the same for a factory and warehouse complex.

Jared had been surprised the day he’d received the letter from Clark saying he’d gotten married.

He’d been devastated the day he got the telegram telling him that Clark had died.

Jared had never met Beth Templeton Mason. No one else in the family had met her either, except his mother who’d traveled to Virginia for a visit shortly after the wedding.

No one in the Mason family knewquite what to think when the widow had shipped Clark’s body home to New York, along with his personal effects, and was never heard from again. They’d been content to leave it at that until a few months ago when Jared’s mother had come across a forgotten stash of Clark’s belongings. Among a stack of correspondence shoved carelessly into the crate she’d found an unfinished letter from Clark announcing the news that his wifewas expecting a baby.

A baby. A Mason. Heir to the hard-earned family wealth and social position. Amelia Mason’s first and only grandchild. She wanted that baby, and Jared was only too happy to take up the chore himself.

A hired investigator had tracked Clark’s wife through a series of towns and menial jobs until he’d located her here in Crystal Springs. She’d done a poor job of hiding her true identity, simply giving herself a new first name and dropping her married name.